


The Gratuitous Vampire AU

by rallamajoop



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rallamajoop/pseuds/rallamajoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gears or vampires, it's all just another day's work for the Holy Order. But they never do quite manage to screen some of their more unusual recruits as carefully as they ought to either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sort of story that starts with a few jokes about how much Gears and vampires have in common, then gets carried away with itself somewhere down the line. Think about it - monsters that can (sometimes) pass for human, capable of converting ordinary humans into their own kind and seen as unholy abominations by the general populace, despite the fact the story largely revolves around the one or two vampires in existence who are fighting on the side of the good guys? _Classic_ vampire material. Doesn't hurt that the main organisation dedicated to eradicating them calls itself 'The Holy Order' and is led by a devout Catholic. They probably hand all their members an official crucifix the day they sign up.
> 
> All of which ought to have made for a perfectly good crackfic, but somewhere between concept and page it picked up a heavy vein of angst and sexual tension and probably no longer qualifies as crack at all. But really, what else are vampire stories are _all about?_

It's barely an hour after sunset when they arrive, Ky knocking smartly on a door that would probably put the entrances to some cathedrals to shame. The last strains of daylight are still dragging themselves over the edge of the sky, and the way they glint off the white marble steps is just bright enough to make the back of Sol's neck prickle. As irritants go it's barely around the level of a particularly bloody-minded blowfly, and the only reason he's letting it bother him at all is because their shift wasn't even supposed to start until an hour from now, and there's no goddamn point in them being here, let alone this early.

He'd said as much an hour ago when Ky had woken him up by throwing his uniform at his bed and making it very clear that the only way he was going to get any more rest that evening was if he could sleep through being kicked in the head. Sol had been counting on having the time to sleep in and maybe even go find something to eat before anyone missed him, but all his protests were brushed off with declarations about a call from an important government official and the necessity of maintaining the image of the Holy Order and blahblahblah something-pretentious-and-loud. Whatever the details were he'd been in no mood to take any notice, because having Ky show up in his room like that when Sol was half-asleep and hungry made him want to do all sorts of things that could get him thrown out of the Order, and punching Ky was only the least of them.

One way or the other, that's all he's gathered to explain why Ky, endlessly commended prodigy Captain of the Paris division and one of maybe four people in their ranks in the city regularly known to take down multiple targets in a night and come home without a scratch (and _still_ have all his paperwork done by morning), is making early evening courtesy house calls to paranoid paper-pushers who wouldn't know real danger if it bit them on the neck.

The door is opened by a prim looking man in a suit who couldn't have projected 'butler' any louder if he'd had it tattooed to his forehead. He frowns at them like their presence is a blight against his nice, clean steps, but he probably looks at everyone that way.

"Captain Kiske of the Holy Order," says Ky, all business, holding up his official medallion. "We're here about an urgent call from your employer."

As if there's any danger they'll be mistaken for making random house calls. Ky doesn't introduce Sol by name, which is the case a lot lately. Sol's developing the cynical theory it's because that way it's a lot harder for people to file official complaints about him afterwards.

The butler is just opening his mouth for some suitably prim and proper response when a voice from inside shrieks, "Is that the Order? At last? Show them in, man, show them in!" and Sol is forced to come to the uncomfortable conclusion that the owner of the voice is, in all probability, _male_.

The butler gives them the long-suffering eyebrow raise of I-just-work-here, it's-all-part-of-the-job, waves them inside, and promptly vanishes in that inexplicable way they must spend months learning at butlers' college.

The entrance hall looks like it was designed for no other purpose than to demonstrate exactly how much space the owner of the house could afford to waste, but the man standing in the middle of it nevertheless looks like he lives in constant and paralysing fear that dress and grooming are the only things keeping him from being mistaken for ordinary gutter scum. With a face like his this might be a real concern but he's also labouring under the mistaken belief that extra layers will distract attention away from it, or that lacy trim makes him look fashionable and dignified rather than like he's been dressed by an excited five-year-old girl with a juvenile frill fetish. Sol instantly hates him even more than he'd expected.

" _You're_ the men from the Holy Order?" he snaps. "What the devil took so long? It's been nearly an hour! What good is it for you to show up at all when the trail is this long cold?"

Sol imagines he sees Ky twitch slightly.

"Monsieur Ballard, I presume," Ky replies with impressive composure. "I guarantee you that the Order is treating this matter with the utmost seriousness, although regretfully, any possibility of catching the culprit red-handed would have been lost well before we received your call. However, descriptions of the incident have already been distributed to all of our active agents, and myself and my associate were dispatched at the first opportunity. Given your position, the Order understood you would prefer this matter dealt with discreetly, and also considering that we have few personnel on duty at this hour, I hope you will appreciate that this was the soonest any ranking officer was available to deal with this matter. Now, if you could show us to the scene, we can begin the investigation without further delay."

If Ky had hoped this eminently reasonable speech might mollify the man, he was disappointed. "No staff on duty at this hour? This is an outrage! The very lives of the people of this city are in your hands! The council – on which I hold a distinguished position! – is responsible for your very funding!"

"Sir, I would ask you to consider that the reason we have fewer personnel on duty at this hour is solely because it is all but unheard of for us to receive any sightings or reports so early – I would hope you can appreciate why. We are short staffed even keeping the streets adequately defended during those hours of darkness."

That's about as far as your council's _funding_ goes, Sol finishes silently in his head.

"Well you've had a complaint at this hour _now_ , and I expect it to be dealt with a bit more professionalism! This way, at once! We've wasted more than enough time!" The man turns and all but runs for the long spiral staircase that arcs up to the next storey.

It's only by luck that he's gone before he can see Sol roll his eyes. Stupid civilians thinking they can tell the Order how to do their job, what does the man _expect_ the Order is going to make of a call that comes when they known damn well calls _don't_ come in? But loathe as he is to admit it, Ky had probably had a point – a twit like this would probably complain just as loudly about a couple of 'ordinary' soldiers showing up right away as about a personal visit from Captain Kiske.

The room he leads them to looks like it might be owned by the five-year-old with the frill fetish – or more likely, by a teenaged girl who's firmly decided she's too old for pink but has gone through a great deal of anguish in the process of giving it up. The window is wide open, leaving the (inevitably lacy) curtains billowing around in a manner Sol finds needlessly dramatic. Other than that there's nothing remotely remarkable about the place – no bloodstains, no overturned furniture, not so much as a discarded dinner plate, unless you count the fact the experience is probably going to have Sol twitching at the mere thought of a frill for weeks.

Ky examines the room with the thoroughness of someone who hasn't found what he was looking for originally and isn't sure what he should do instead. Sol goes to stand by the window, about the only feature he can stand to look at very long.

"Perhaps you could take us through the exact circumstances..." Ky suggests uncertainly.

"It was the maid who found it like this!" Ballard wails. "My poor, dear Isabelle! All day she was feeling faint, and in the late afternoon she asked to be excused from supper and retired to her room. When the maid came to check on her, this is what she found, the window thrown open and my daughter vanished! Spirited away under our very noses!"

"While I appreciate how distressing this must be for you," Ky says in his best tone of professional condolences, "I don't think I follow why the Holy Order was the first authority you thought to contact."

"Are you insane, man? And you call yourself a professional?" Ballard yells at him, with the sort of dramatics that wouldn't be out of place at the theatre. "It _could only have been a vampire_ that made off with her! There's a drop outside that window of thirty feet. My sweet, innocent daughter abducted without so much as time for a scream?"

Sol can't help but notice the window faces due west. He can only imagine what the glare in here must be like in the late afternoon – those lacy curtains would be next to useless against it. Thirty feet down looks like about right, but he's not at all surprised to see that not even two feet away there's a nice, thick branch growing right along the window sill, attached to a nice, sturdy looking tree almost in arm's reach. The branch has friends at nicely spaced intervals going all the way down the trunk too. No prizes for guessing the truth about _this_ one.

"Hasn't been a vampire within a mile of here." Sol grouches. "We're wasting our time."

" _What_ was that?!" Ballard shrieks.

"I must ask you to excuse the manners of my associate," Ky says quickly, shooting Sol a look, "but I find his instincts on these matters are rarely wrong."

Ballard is clearly about to protest further, but Ky presses on. " _Sir_ , if, as you describe, your maid discovered the room empty right on the moment of sunset, wouldn't it therefore follow that at the time your daughter was abducted, the sun was still in the sky?"

Ballard looks momentarily flummoxed. "Well…" he offers unhelpfully.

"Given the degree to which vampires are weakened by sunlight, it is exceptionally rare for them to venture out before darkness has fallen. It's particularly unlikely one would attempt the sort of athletics required to make it up to this window."

Ballard makes a spluttering noise of a rather undignified nature. "You must think me a complete fool, _Mister_ Kiske, wasn't it? Even if that's true of _ordinary_ vampires, I'm not so uninformed on this subject that I don't know there are extraordinary ones among their numbers that can withstand a little sunlight quite well. Why, it's been hardly two months since the papers got hold of that story about that Perne woman – hiding in plain sight in society for years before anyone discovered what she was!"

Sol twitches and forces himself to make a list of reasons why setting the place on fire isn't a good way of escaping this idiocy.

"I think the accounts you refer to be may have been guilty of sensationalising the matter slightly," says Ky with the greatest of patience. "The reality is that even the eldest vampires find exposure to direct sunlight very unpleasant. Vampires of that age are extremely rare, and in any case accustomed to a rather better level of discretion than abduction in daylight."

"Then what would you tell me happened here?" Ballard snaps. "How would you explain how my daughter vanished so completely?"

Ky takes a deep breath and looks toward the window. "Have you considered the possibility that someone might leave this room by scaling the tree outside?"

"What, _while carrying my daughter on his back?_ "

"If your daughter was rendered unconscious, and the perpetrator a particularly skilled climber or acting with assistance, that may be a possibility. But… before we start constructing such scenarios, have you considered the possibility your daughter left of her own means?"

Ballard positively bristles. "Are you now suggesting that a sick girl climbed _thirty feet_ down out of her bedroom window?"

"Actually," says Ky, "with regards to her 'illness'… might I be right in guessing that retiring to her room in this manner would be something of a common habit of hers?"

"Well… she has done the same a few times in the last weeks, small wonder the maid was growing so anxious for her…" Ballard admits.

"Might I also be right in supposing she asked specifically that she not be disturbed?"

"She did say something of the sort, but I hardly see how…You there, did you say something?" He shoots a sudden look at Sol, and narrows his eyes.

"Monsieur," Ky interjects quickly, "forgive my indiscretion, but is there, perhaps, a young man who holds her particular favour?"

Ballard turns a bright shade of red. "I should say not! My daughter, courting young men at her tender age? There was a _minor_ matter of foolishness over that errand-boy back in June, but I made it quite clear to her I would not tolerate any such nonsense – especially with a commoner so far below her station, and that was the end of it."

"Do I understand then, sir," Ky says very slowly, "that your daughter was in the habit of retiring to her room with instructions that she not be disturbed, and also that she has... a certain affection for a particular young man with whom she would only be able to meet in secret?"

Ballard's colour is now getting very close to purple.

They aren't precisely thrown out of the house after that, but a casual observer might have trouble telling the difference. Sol doesn't care. As far as he's concerned, the faster they get out of there the better.

"Could've told you that was going to be a waste of time," he grumbles to Ky on the way back. It fits the theme of the week. The most interesting thing they've had to deal with in days was a crazy girl they caught chasing drugged out vampire-wannabes in stupid masks around the city with a stake, and even then only because she managed to elbow Ky in the groin in the middle of his slightly-too-gentle attempts to disable her without doing anything unchivalrous.

"We still need to be seen to take these things seriously," Ky mutters back, more by habit than with any real feeling. He gives a tired sigh. "It wouldn't hurt you to be a little more diplomatic. That poor man was genuinely scared for his daughter's safety when he called us, you know."

"Genuinely in denial that his brat's grown up into a teenager, you mean," says Sol, "Same as the rest of those rich sods who think attracting a vampire is some sort of status symbol."

"You would think any sensible man would have been a bit more relieved to hear his daughter _hadn't_ been abducted by a blood-sucking monster, wouldn't you?" Ky admits grudgingly.

Sol lets himself grin. "Still worried about all that crap about our image?"

Ky looks back over his shoulder, eyes sparkling in one of those rare expressions that Sol's pretty sure most of the rest of his Order don't even know he's capable of. "Well, that all depends on the odds that he's going be sharing the story with all his friends and associates."

"You mean, 'the odds he'll ever dare breathe a word of it to anyone'?"

"I think we're fairly safe, don't you?"

Sol still thinks a Holy Order that has to worry about the likes of Ballard is a pretty sorry excuse for a Holy _anything_ , but the grin lasts him most of the way back to base. In a job like theirs it's not like there's any guarantee the rest of the evening will be any improvement on this, but solo work was never much better, so why waste the moment.

What the hell, maybe he'll put off getting himself thrown out a little longer.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the night passes in similarly uneventful manner. Not a single call for assistance comes in from anywhere in the city, the one report that might have warranted attention is corrected as a false alarm almost as soon as it arrives (attractive female restaurant staff whose jobs require them to walk home alone late in Paris these days have apparently learned to do so _heavily armed_ and wary), and several hours patrolling the areas known for their popularity with the less ‘lively’ portion of Paris’s nightlife reveal not so much as a new kind of mildew. By the time they turn for home in the early hours of the morning, Ky has to admit that he might as well have let Sol sleep in that evening, for all the good they’ve done for the city that night. 

After starting the night already irritable even by his usual standards of antipathy towards the universe at large, Sol has grown more sullen and tetchy as the night wears on, hitting ‘monosyllabic’ in their last hour and continuing only downwards from there. For a man Ky knows would happily spend twelve hours a day asleep when allowed, he has remarkably little patience for a slow evening. It's hard not to sympathise though; a quiet night in this job in a city of this size all too often means only that all the trouble is going on somewhere out of sight. 

“I suppose we can’t expect to uncover a whole nest posing as a theatre company every night,” Ky muses (and really, what the vampires of Paris had with that particular ruse he'll never understand). 

Reminders of that incident usually get him some kind of grin from Sol, but tonight, he just mutters something that would probably have been unrepeatable even if it _had_ been audible, and keeps walking. 

Ky reminds himself – in what is something of a regular ritual on these patrols – that Sol is extremely good at his job just as soon as the action starts, so he as the superior officer here is quite justified in ignoring a few minor incidences of insubordination in the name of keeping the Paris streets that little bit safer after dark. 

It’s hard to imagine how he would have made it into the Order in the first place if Sir Kliff himself hadn’t been so determined that Sol be signed up at any cost. Never before had anyone made it into the Order's ranks with barely a form filled in to his name; Sol had dealt with any questions that more than touched on his history and qualifications with stony silence, and the Order's usual background checks had uncovered little more than rumour. But whatever dark secrets Sol's past might hide, his instincts where vampires are concerned are unnaturally well refined, and his skills speak for themselves. He takes to the task of hunting with the single-minded obsession Ky is used to seeing in men who join the Order to seek revenge for loved ones taken by the undead – or worse, sent back to taunt their mortal families, barely recognisable as their human selves. It's hard to imagine Sol with any kind of family though, and unlike so many other men, he's never shown any signs to warn the obsession was at risk of spiralling into self-destructive tendencies as their owner lost himself in the desire for revenge – even if it is only his shear bloody-mindedness that saves him. 

Ky gave up trying to figure out what to make of Sol months ago. He’s never going to be a man any competent captain could afford to have less than half an eye on at all times, but he's been such a boon to them in the time since he joined that it's hard to imagine how the Paris division would operate without him nowadays. 

“Do you think there’s something brewing?” Ky asks, his usual determination never to rely on Sol’s instincts giving way to curiosity yet again. 

Sol glares at him balefully out of the corner of an eye. 

“It’s too quiet lately,” Ky continues, “Maybe I should be glad of the reprieve, but I can't help wonder what it might mean.”

Sol’s reply still bears more resemblance to incoherent grumbling than real speech, but Ky thinks he catches something like, “ _Hell_ if I know.” He shakes his head and tries to convince himself he’s letting paranoia get the better of him. If they’ve got downtime he should be making the most of it – scheduling some extra training sessions with the men, perhaps. Even if he refuses to trust the peace to last, there's no excuse to waste it. Perhaps he'll even take the opportunity to give himself a few daylight shifts for a change. As much as he’s become accustomed to this schedule – coming to appreciate the peace of crisp, early mornings like this one while the city still sleeps – it’s been too long since he saw much of the sun that wasn’t in the act of rising or setting. 

Sol probably won’t be very happy about it though. Lazy or not, there are times he seems almost as reluctant to be dragged from bed in daylight hours as the quarry they hunt...

Ky’s just about to follow that thought somewhere he would have found unsettling when he realises the sound of Sol’s footsteps has abruptly ceased. He looks up from his thoughts just in time to see Sol recover from whatever startled him and dash away down a side street as though all the hounds of hell are on his heels. 

Ky curses himself and gives chase. It’s obvious what’s happened – Sol’s seen or heard something that he must have missed while lost in thought; there’s nothing rare about Sol running off without bothering to explain himself when he thinks he’s on to something. He calls after Sol once but isn’t surprised to hear no reply, and after that it’s all he can do to keep Sol in sight. So much for the rare reprieve of a quiet evening. He hadn't known Sol could move this fast – isn't sure he's ever seen _anyone_ move this fast – and something genuinely uncomfortable settles in Ky's gut as he tries to imagine what could possibly spook Sol so badly.

He’s just starting to worry he’s lost Sol altogether when what had been little more than a narrow alley opens suddenly in front of him into a decent-sized plaza. Sol is standing only a handful of paces away from him, all his attention focused up and away, and when Ky follows his gaze it leads him a figure perched high and precariously up on a rooftop overlooking the plaza. The man – or not a man, there’s no way he could be human – stands out as little more than a shadow against the night sky, but Ky can just make out long hair, the folds of an outlandish leather outfit that hangs like a skirt around his waist, and a long-handled scythe held in one hand – _presented_ almost; this creature wants them to know he’s dangerous. It’s ridiculously over-dramatic, even by vampire standards, and yet Ky cannot shake the fear that for once, the drama may not be unjustified. 

Sol yells something that sounds like a name, hard syllables that register more in tone than in words, and Ky suddenly finds himself wondering whether this is the vampire Sol’s been hunting all along – the answer to everything he’s never dared ask about the obsession he so often sees in Sol’s eyes. 

Despite the distance to the rooftop, the vampire's voice carries as if he was standing right next to them. “Well met, Corrupted One! I had wondered how long you’d take to find me out. So this is what you’ve come to, currying favour with lowly mortals?” There’s a glint of yellow eyes in the darkness as the vampire turns his attention to Ky, and he almost doesn't remember how to breathe until it leaves again. “Whatever will my mistress think of this?”

The vampire laughs, loud and grating, no care to spare for who might overhear it. Ky can’t see the look on Sol’s face, but for a terrible moment he’s not sure he wants to. 

With an inhuman snarl and a noise like tearing fabric, Sol launches himself at the vampire. The next thing Ky knows they’re both on that rooftop – then gone again the next moment, the vampire fleeing away and Sol giving chase. It all happens so fast Ky is left staring dazedly after them in shock, convinced his eyes must be playing tricks on him. Surely he couldn’t have just seen Sol leap to the very top of that building in a single bound – not even a _vampire_ could jump that far. 

There’s no hope of following them the same way, so Ky has to give chase at ground level, keeping pace with the battle erupting on the rooftops above him largely by sound – the distinctive ring of the vampire's laughter and the roar of flame so hot that even from this far away he can feel the heat wash over him in waves. He’s never seen Sol like this before, rarely seen a vampire that could stand up to him for half this long, and he trembles to think how old this creature must be to have such power. 

The sound of the battle is interrupted by an ear-splitting crash as both combatants come tumbling down from the sky as one, overbalanced while one had the other in a vice hold and leaving both too occupied to do anything to pull themselves out of the dive. They land in a small courtyard almost right in front of Ky, bare cobbles providing nothing to break their fall. There’s a terrible moment where Ky wonders whether Sol will get up again, but it’s over as soon as he sees Sol stagger to his feet, dazed and bruised but miraculously unbroken. The vampire does likewise – certainly not laughing any longer – and both take a few seconds to reorient themselves before the battle resumes.

The pause gives Ky the first clear look at Sol he’s had since the battle began, and what he sees all but stops his heart in his chest, worse than any of the horrors he’s seen or even half-imagined since this began. 

Sol has _wings_ – leathery and batlike – sprouting from his shoulders, the top of his uniform all but torn to shreds to accommodate them. His fingernails have grown into vicious claws and his eyes – unusual enough normally with their odd red/brown hue – glow in bright yellow and are slitted with catlike pupils. When his lips draw back into a silent snarl, Ky can see his incisors have sharpened into fangs. 

Sol has become a vampire. 

And not just any kind of vampire – Ky can count on one hand how many times he’s encountered a vampire powerful enough to endure this degree of transformation, from the humanoid to the beastial; and not all his fingers and toes could count the number of lives, Order and civilian alike, that were lost at the hands of each such creature before it could be subdued. 

Even retreat to the comforting numbness of shock is denied to him – this is nothing he can pretend not to have seen before, time and again and never any easier for the horrible familiarity of it all. It's common, _horribly_ common, for men of the Holy Order to be taken by the enemy and sent back as twisted monsters to torment their former comrades – or worse still, to mimic their human selves just long enough to strike where they can hurt the worst. Not all the security measures the Order has ever implemented succeed in catching every vampire-spy. It doesn't matter in the least how powerful Sol may have been as a human, doesn't make the slightest difference how many vampires he's fought and beaten; _no-one_ is immune to the vampire's embrace. And it's not until now Ky has ever realised how completely he'd allow himself to forget that when it came to Sol.

All this time Ky has waived away so many of the rules Sol breaks as casually as breathing – all the times he used to sneak out to hunt alone, counter to every regulation ever enacted for the men's own safety, sneering brazenly at the ridiculous idea _he_ might need backup for his own protection. Sol's been such a boon to their Order, such a scourge to the vampires of their city that Ky has fallen head-first into the trap of imagining him invincible. How could he not have seen this coming, when Ky _should have known_ it was only a matter of time before everything that made Sol indispensable would be making him a target?

Ky doesn't know how this could have happened, doesn't know when, or how long Sol's been deceiving them, whether this is what the other vampire was alluding to or what he's even to make of the fight he's witnessing (yet another ridiculous political squabble between differing vampire clans?), but it's impossible not to feel so keenly it cuts him to the bone how much of this must be his fault. 

He’s got no way of understanding any of it, not even any time to waste wondering. It’s more luck than he deserves just to have seen this before Sol turned on them (and how much _more_ lucky Sol is so caught up in his fight he's forgotten Ky could be watching), and under all the disbelief, all the betrayal that's almost choking him from the inside, there's the part of him locked down hard enough to be unassailable that knows all too well there's only one way this can be allowed to end. All those years of Order training that saw him promoted to captain before his twentieth year, all would be for nothing if he hadn't long ago trained himself in how to shut down those parts of himself that want nothing more than to grieve, and to fight the battle in front of him. As hard as he may hope that neither of the combatants will survive the fight, even as the bile rises in his throat at the thought, Ky _knows_ this may be the only opportunity he’ll ever get. 

He can't know how long this _thing_ in front of him has been pretending to be Sol, but there's only one possible way to honour the man Sol once was. 

By now both vampires are flagging. There’s blood running down Sol’s face, and one of the other’s arms hangs useless at his side, broken so badly not even vampiric healing could mend it quickly, his scythe a much more ungainly weapon to wield one-handed. Yet the glare in his eyes suggests he is far from defeated, although it slips a little when he ducks too late under a blast of fire, blinded long enough for Sol to land a kick to his good arm, sending his weapon flying (and it's easier with every blow for Ky to convince himself how real this is – no human, not even Sol, fights the way that thing with Sol's face is fighting now). Opponent disarmed, Sol lunges for him head on only to find himself grappling with empty air as the other vampire dissolves in front of him like smoke. He reappears again next to his fallen scythe and staggers to his feet, but recovers to retrieve his weapon, glibly throw a mocking bow and vanish away into the night. Sol lets out another growl, spreads his wings and leaps after him. 

That’s when Ky, knowing it’s now or never, shuts his eyes, raises his arms and throws every volt of lightning he can summon into Sol’s body.

Sol lets out a roar that turns into a scream, muscles seizing before he can do anything to break his fall, crashing back to the ground with a sound Ky can feel in his ribcage, and goes on feeling even as he throws everything he has – all the rage and betrayal and loss – into his magic until he’s got nothing left, praying with every fibre of his being that it’ll be enough – that he won’t have to see Sol get up again. 

(When Sol does, frazzled so badly that tiny streams of smoke are rising from all over his body, there’s still one small, crazy part of him that feels _relieved_ , and that might be when it dawns on Ky that even if he wins this he might not come away from it sane.)

The vampire with Sol's face staggers to its feet in stilted movements, muscles twitching in ugly spasms from the shock. Ky draws his sword and prays for the strength to make this quick.

“Damn you boy, _what_...?” the vampire coughs, still sounding so much like Sol that Ky can hardly bear it. There’s a look in the creature’s eyes that Ky won't for a moment let himself believe.

“ _Monster_ ,” Ky hisses, not daring anything longer, biting down on what he really wants to ask – just how long he’d planned to go on deceiving before he turned on them all.

Sol lurches forward; Ky can see him recovering dangerously fast. “ _Fuck_ you, Ky, _listen_ to me...”

He reaches for Ky, only a few feet left between them, but Ky shakes his head desperately and stabs forward with all his might, trusting to training and instinct that the blow will strike true. He doesn't even let himself hear the sound Sol makes when the blade goes straight through his body, embedded in the flesh almost to the hilt. Opens his eyes to see he’s missed his mark, the wound too low to be mortal, but too deep for any vampire to shrug off with ease. All he needs to do is twist the blade that bit further, Sol's heart is so very close...

Ky never makes that last thrust, because that's when he makes his mistake – he looks up, into Sol's face, catches his eyes and freezes. Because Sol's eyes aren't the yellow-gold of an unnatural monster anymore, they're the familiar, _human_ eyes he's looked into so many times before, and suddenly it hits him hard enough to knock the wind out of him: it's _Sol_ he's about to kill. _Sol_ , who for all his failings is the greatest ally the Order has ever had, who's saved Ky’s own life probably more times than he knows – who's mere presence has made Ky feel safer than anyone in his job has any right to ever feel. _This_ is the same man he's an inch away from murdering in cold blood _oh god what has he done..._

He's still frozen when he hears the sound of his sword clattering to the ground after being wrenched free, and the inhuman snarl that leaves Sol’s lips before he pins Ky back against the wall behind him with all his weight.

The last thought that goes through Ky's mind is how utterly he's failed – himself, Sol, the Order, everyone – before Sol's fangs sink deep into his neck.


	3. Chapter 3

Ky had been ready for the bite to hurt, but what he feels is beyond any pain – this is more like the sudden sensation of tingling cold under water that ought to be scalding, beyond anything his senses have the vocabulary to describe to him. It must be a miracle he hasn’t blacked out, every moment he finds the space to recognise he’s still conscious he meets with a new kind of amazement. He can feel what can only be blood flowing from his body, mouthful by mouthful, but Ky’s been wounded before and this doesn’t even compare – it’s like the teeth aren’t in his neck, they've sunk straight into his soul. It's so much more intense than anything he's ever imagined he had any capacity to feel – he can't see, can't hear, can't even _remember_ a time this feeling wasn't everything in his whole world. There’s something so fitting to the realisation that the aftertaste of himself in Sol’s mouth will be the last impact he’ll ever leave on the world that he can’t even question that this has to be the last thing he'll ever feel.

It's such a shock then, when Sol withdraws his teeth and the rest of the world comes flooding back, that it takes him several dazed seconds to realise what’s happened, some small portion of him almost disappointed. 

Ky feels light-headed from blood loss, but no worse than what he's used to from donations to the Order's very necessary pool. He can feel Sol, still holding him there, muscles tensed, head hovering over his shoulder and breath ghosting against his neck in short, warm pants, but Sol makes no move to start drinking again.

“...why did you stop?” he asks stupidly.

The grip on him tightens sharply, the pain of it so normal compared to everything else that’s transpired tonight as to be oddly sobering. 

“For _fuck's_ sake boy, what do you take me for?” Sol growls at him, sounding so insulted by the suggestion that Ky's first impulse is to apologise to him.

“But... you...” he stutters helplessly.

Sol makes a noise that isn't quite a sigh, grabs one of Ky's hands and pulls it down to his side, just under his ribcage. The warmth of Sol's skin is a shock against Ky's fingers, but even more so is the realisation that as close as Sol's shirt is to shredded, the hole giving him access is the very same _he_ made when he stabbed Sol – what can’t be more than minutes before. The skin underneath is slippery with blood, and yet, under the flex of Ky’s fingers Sol's flesh is smooth and undamaged, he can't detect so much as a scar. It dawns on him – oh, of _course_ – vampires can heal within minutes of feeding. Sol had never been trying to kill him, he'd just been... 

“ _That_ was why you...?” he whispers, feeling lost among so many pieces of this that don't add up to anything he can make sense of. “I don't understand. You're... a _vampire_...” He’s not sure anymore whether Sol’s holding him down or holding him up, but he’s got no idea what he’d do now if Sol let go.

“What the _fuck_ do I have to do to spell it out for you?” Sol's voice is so close he's making Ky dizzy. “Been one since the day you signed me up.”

“But you've been _helping_ us, you–” Ky stammers stupidly. None of this was in the script he'd prepared himself for. Sol the human has always been enough trouble to deal with; finding the fortitude to cope with Sol the vampire had nearly broken him, and to have all his assumptions shattered all over again this night is more than even all his years of training have prepared him for. This is _insane_ – and yet, the urge to believe everything Sol's halfway-implying is so strong it's shameful. Is he under some kind of glamour? But he's still wearing his crucifix, he should be immune to vampiric influence. After everything Sol's done for them it's not remotely logical he could have been planning to betray them all along. Ky knows Sol too well for that – he’s fought at Sol’s side, _seen_ the looks he tries to hide on the rare occasions they arrive in time to rescue human hostages alive; if he's been an enemy agent all along he's been remarkably ineffective.

“Thought you might have noticed,” Sol snorts. 

“Sol,” Ky asks desperately, squirming against Sol's hold, “what are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m a vampire who’s _on your side_.”

Ky stares blankly at what little of Sol he can make out in this light. He wouldn’t be the first vampire to protest innocence when backed into a corner, to invent elaborate old wives tales to prove themselves the _one_ vampire in the world who has seen the error of their ways, to have been redeemed by mystical intervention, to have been pure enough to retain their humanity through the transformation – except Sol isn’t cornered, and hasn’t offered any real explanation. He hasn’t pretended to have any proof beyond who Ky knows him to be after so much time guarding each other’s backs. 

Ky shakes his head. “I’ve lost a lot of men to vampires who made them believe that claim.”

“Then don't call me a vampire,” Sol growls. “Call me something else, whatever lets you deal with it.”

It's an excuse, not an answer, but Ky’s so desperate for anything to make this alright that the tiny sliver of doubt in his mind – that just _maybe_ Sol could really be the one chink in the rules of something so much larger than the Order regulation handbook – wedges itself under his better judgement, and Ky latches onto it with everything he has left. 

“You’ve been hiding this from us all along?” he says weakly.

“Can you blame me?”

Ky can't. The moment he let himself so much as entertain the possibility that Sol was telling the truth, so many little things about Sol that have never quite added up before have suddenly begun to make perfect sense. This is why they couldn't uncover anything about his background, why he always grumbles so much when made to get up during daylight hours, why he's so _very_ good at what he does. Already it seems like the greater wonder that he ever believed Sol could be human.

“No,” he whispers, “I couldn't blame you for anything.” He's suddenly very glad for the feeling of Sol's skin under his fingers. There's something grounding about the tactile connection that he needs right now. Especially with the relief of having survived this night and Sol not being lost to him hitting him so hard he’s glad Sol’s still holding him up. 

“Can't exactly blame you either,” Sol admits, seemingly satisfied at last that Ky isn't going to lay into him with a blade the first chance he gets. He leans back as though to step away, then hesitates, looking back up, and Ky takes a second to realise that what’s holding Sol there is the press of his own fingers tightening at Sol’s side, and, _oh_ , is that him doing that? This has all been so overwhelming he’s still catching up, embarrassingly slowly, with everything down to his own reactions, but there’s been something comforting about the weight of Sol’s body that he’s been distantly aware of for a while now, something intoxicatingly _real_ about every point of contact between them. It takes another second to make sense of _why_ , and another for the full mortification to sink in, because with all the excitement, it’s taken this long for him to become fully aware of just _how_ – and just how _much_ – he’s been enjoying Sol’s proximity, on the most visceral of levels. 

“Boy?” Sol shifts slightly, then freezes in a way that can only mean he's realised exactly what Ky's reaction means, and Ky wants to die of shame. Surely he’s had enough shocks for one night without this as well; what sort of person must it make him to be this aroused by being _bitten_ , of all ridiculous things?

But Sol only gives a low chuckle and brings a hand to the side of Ky's face, surprisingly gentle. “Don't be like that. Only natural to react like this.” One of Sol's legs brushes lightly between Ky's, and Ky gasps aloud, and oh _god_ , even just that feels so _good_ that when Sol adds, “There's not much more intimate than blood,” it takes him most of a minute to make sense of all the words. 

“Oh,” Ky breathes, finding it increasingly hard to think straight, but incredibly relieved. So _that's_ all it was, just – a _reaction_ , probably something to do with all the stress and panic, the emotional overload...

His train of thought dissolves into static as Sol leans in again, insinuating a leg between Ky's in a way that couldn't possibly be mistaken for teasing or accidental, almost lifting Ky off his feet with the pressure – like a promise of so many things Ky hadn't even known to ask for. Ky's not sure he'd ever realised that _anyone_ could get as hard as he is this fast, but Sol certainly can't be under any illusions about it, and he really, _really_ doesn't seem to mind. 

“Well?” Sol whispers in his ear. “Want me to take care of that for you?”

Ky's brain almost shorts out altogether; he's halfway sure this is all happening far too fast, but the only word he can form is, “ _Please_.”

Ky has just enough time to make out Sol's teeth bared in a wicked grin before Sol's kissing him, deep and urgent, so sudden and unfamiliar that it takes Ky most of a minute to sort out who's tongue is who's and gather his senses into any attempt to return the kiss, free hand tangling into Sol’s hair to hold them together, but if anything that only seems to make Sol wilder still. It should be more uncomfortable than pleasant when Ky has so little experience with anything like this that he's struggling just to keep up, but far from that, Ky's loving every second – Sol's holding nothing back and the feeling of that is unbelievable; he’s not even sure he knows what he’d do if Sol slowed down. The memory of Sol in combat from earlier in the evening flickers behind his eyelids with every other gasping breath – impossible not to feel all that same energy being redirected into a different kind of onslaught now. Sol kisses like he's been starving for this; and with the way he's keeping them pressed full length together there's no way of missing that drinking Ky's blood must have turned him on every bit as much as it did Ky. The pressure of Sol's leg over his erection is something glorious, and Ky can't help himself from moving against it, rising and falling in stops and starts, what Sol's doing to his mouth far too distracting to let him work out any kind of consistent rhythm. He should be embarrassed by the way he's all but rutting against Sol's leg, if everything Sol's doing wasn't so obviously meant to encourage him. There’s the exhilarating feeling that there’s nothing he can do wrong here – no part of him Sol doesn’t want, and for a blissful few minutes it seems like the worst mistake Ky’s ever been guilty of is that they haven’t done this before. 

The small corner of Ky's mind that's still capable of offering comment on events reminds him that it's not, in fact, that unusual for vampires to use glamour-fuelled seduction to get close to their victims, and it's not until now that it's even occurred to him there might be something _more_ to those cases. But what happened between him and Sol is hardly 'normal' for vampire attacks in any way, and after all he's been through tonight, surely he's earned the right to enjoy this.

It's a feeling that only intensifies when he feels Sol scrabbling to undo his belt-buckle, not even bothering to pull the belt free before reaching for Ky's fly. He breaks the kiss and leans back, surveying his handiwork with considerable relish. Vampires can see in the dark, can't they? Ky can hardly imagine what kind of picture he must make by now, feels like he's never going to catch his breath and isn't even sure that he wants to. He's just about to protest (protest _what_ he's not sure, though the fact Sol's stopped touching him might be a good place to start) when there's a hand dragging slowly upwards over the very obvious bulge in his underwear, and as desperate as he is for contact down there he can't shake the idea this is less for him than it's for Sol, learning Ky by touch. The hand gets all the way to the top seam before plunging in under the fabric, the sensation of skin on sensitive skin a whole new kind of revelation, and it's a good thing there's room for Ky to lean forward now because the way he arches under the touch probably would have resulted in him cracking his head against the wall behind him otherwise.

“' _Why did you stop_ ', should'a fucking _known_.” Sol sounds incredibly pleased with himself, and Ky takes a second to recognise the first four of those words as his own. He almost tells Sol he hadn't meant it like this, but it would be closer to the truth to say he hadn't known how he'd meant it at the time. What comes out instead is a moan shaped like Sol's name, but it must have been the right answer because Sol's all over him again, rewarding Ky with the press of lips closing against the side of his neck, once, then twice, then gone again just as suddenly when Sol drops to his knees, pulling Ky's pants down to his knees almost in the same movement. The shock of cold air on what has become unusually sensitive skin is just enough to distract Ky out of realising what Sol is so plainly about to do until the last second before Sol's mouth closes over him, hot and wet and Ky should really be getting used to the feeling of everything in his brain whiting out into levels of pleasure he hadn't imagined could be left to explore after everything Sol's already done to him – so good that this time the surprise is that ten seconds have gone by and he hasn't come right there. 

He jerks forward helplessly, not for the first time that night shocked by his own lack of restraint, but Sol only revels in it. For all that Ky's horribly sure he's not going to last, Sol seems to know exactly how to catch him right before he goes over the edge, slowing himself at just the right moment to keep Ky panting for more. There's half a thought teasing at him about some sort of poetic sense in the idea of Sol being unnaturally skilled at sucking on things, but whatever ridiculous thought Ky was about to have along those lines is forgotten again under another twist of Sol's tongue and no matter how well Sol's doing there's no way this is going to go on for long. 

The last coherent thought that passes thorough Ky's mind is to wonder, has it really been less than twelve hours between when he was dragging Sol out of bed to coddle the delusions of some ridiculous bureaucrat, and _this?_

He comes, halfway to laughter at his own foolishness; thinks maybe he feels the last little piece of the world he thought he knew come crashing down in the middle of it and isn't even sure he cares. Climax is more than a little like being bitten all over again, beyond pain or arousal, beyond remembering his own name, and far from remembering how to want anything but this. 

The first thing he's aware of afterwards is Sol, still radiating smugness, and the oddly un-sobering awareness that by rights, probably none of this should have happened tonight. It's a bit hard to make the most of what should by rights have been a very pleasant afterglow in such odd circumstances

“Better than killing me?” Sol grins, and the best Ky can manage is an incoherent noise that's at least one part exasperation, but nonetheless very much a sound of assent. He can't even picture fighting Sol now without the image transforming into something significantly different.

The next thing that registers is Sol zipping up his pants and standing up. There's a finality to his manner that Ky finds faintly confusing. 

“Don't you want me to...?” Ky offers. He's sure Sol was just as aroused as he was, and no matter how smug he still looks, nothing Ky knows about him lends any sense to the idea Sol would be happy with just this. Unless he already _has_... and it's fair that Ky wouldn't necessarily have been in any state to _notice_... and no matter how worn out he is or how much trouble he's having even admitting the words for half of what he's thinking, the thought of being able to touch Sol in return is so appealing there's a wash of disappointment when he considers the alternative.

Sol shakes his head. “Not here,” and that's just about the first it even occurs to Ky that even if this is a secluded alley in the early morning, they've still carried out this whole act _in public_. Ky is still adding up all the implications of that with what 'not here' is going to mean when Sol catches his eye and adds, “If you're still in the mood for more when we get home, trust me, there's _plenty_ I want from you.”

The words are blunt and demanding, and should they really seem like the most intimate thing Sol's ever said to him?

The only reply Ky succeeds in coming up with is, “Which is the fastest way back?”


	4. Chapter 4

The walk back to headquarters passes in a blur. Ky hardly registers whatever excuse he makes to the gate wardens for Sol's tattered state – the truth, probably: Sol got into a fight with a powerful vampire, but his uniform suffered for it far worse than he himself did. The guards are scarcely going to try any harder to stop two such important persons when they're in no mood to be stopped. Sol all but barges straight past them, Ky trailing explanations in his wake. 

It's on his shoulders that they lost that vampire before Sol had the chance to finish the job, but Sol hasn't mentioned it all the way back. Responsibility for that has been prickling like a burr stuck in the back of his mind ever since, but it's only now that he gets to framing the thought that Sol has given up the hunt for this – for him. As well as Ky knows Sol and as often as he might berate him for laziness, it sends a shiver up Ky's spine to think that there's anything that Sol would prioritise higher. The vampire's long gone by now, of course, with little hope of tracking him down again tonight if he doesn't want to be found, but even that's more of an excuse than a reason. There are vampires every night of their lives, but even Ky has come to accept that punishing himself for every vampire that escapes them is useless at best. There are vampires every night of their lives, but this is something new. 

Sol stops just beyond the arch of the entryway, and Ky's just distracted enough that he almost walks into him before noticing. A hand raised to stop himself lands on Sol's side, miraculously finding a solid patch of fabric that hasn't been near-shredded, and even so it's embarrassing how much something as simple as proximity to Sol is affecting him now. Affecting Sol too, from the way he turns under the touch until they're facing. The hungry gleam in his eye Ky remembers from earlier has returned, if it ever left, promising things Ky hadn't imagined he had it in himself to want this badly. 

“Your room or mine?” Sol murmurs in his ear. 

The answer isn't really in any doubt – Ky's is by far the more comfortable, thanks to the privileges of rank. “It had better be mine, hadn't it?”

Sol gives a warm chuckle. “Meet you there.” And with hardly more than that, he's gone, leaving Ky in the hallway, feeling so addled he takes two steps in the wrong direction before remembering where his room is.

After everything that's happened this night, the familiarity of his quarters seems out of place, and the door closes heavily behind him. He's torn between wishing he'd asked Sol what he'd gone to do and feeling sure that would only have betrayed his ignorance. Automatically, he strips out of his coat and boots and wonders stupidly what he's meant to do next. Should he be getting undressed? Or is that something he should leave for Sol to take care of? He's not nearly so clueless about sex as Sol seems to think, given some of the jokes he's made in Ky's presence in the past, but ever since he started making his way up through the Order's ranks in his late teens, there's always been so many more important things to do than pursue romantic possibilities. There's never been the opportunity to put what he knows into practice. 

There's never been anyone like Sol before either. 

Some of those jokes of Sol's are starting to sound a bit different in retrospect. Particularly a couple of instances when he'd brushed aside the thought Sol might have been flirting with him. 

Ky's in no state to be judging time objectively, but it's probably about ten minutes before there are footsteps in the hallway outside – and that's all the warning Ky gets before Sol's pushing the door open without so much as knocking. Whatever he went away to do included removing the remains of his shirt and wiping away the worst of the bloody mess that had been drying on his side, which Ky is quietly grateful for. He's carrying something, a small jar Ky doesn't immediately recognise, but that's a detail he hardly notices in passing. Sol's hair had come loose from its usual binds sometime earlier in the evening, and the picture he paints is feral and beautiful in a way Ky has never let himself appreciate like this before. 

Sol prowls up to him and brings a hand to the side of his face. He rubs his thumb over Ky's chin, his expression suddenly serious. “No second thoughts?”

Ky looks down as far as Sol's hand will let him, leaving him studying Sol's collarbone. “I should have, shouldn't I? There's so much I don't understand about you. So many things I should be asking – what you are, how any of what you've told me is possible.” How much of his willingness to trust Sol after all of this has been motivated by lust. He raises a hand to run slowly up Sol's free arm, balancing the contact between them; the reassurance of smooth, warm muscle under his fingers is something he would probably need now even without the urge to get his hands on Sol again that's been burning him for what feels like half the night.

“But?” Sol prompts. It must have been obvious where Ky was going with this. 

“But that can wait,” Ky says. 

In the alleyway, when Ky had choked out the word, “Please,” it had been too dark to see quite how Sol's face had lit up around the grin (which to be honest had been doing strange things to Ky's stomach since the day they met) – if 'lit up' was a term that applied to the kind of far-spectrum radiance that had far more to do with heat than illumination. Any remaining doubts in Ky's mind burn and shrivel away under the glare; there's already been too much anticipation, and for once in his life, Ky pushes away every impulse to over-think things. Before Sol's even moved he's leaning forward, and Sol's mouth opens underneath his own. 

It's different this time, without the blood-fuelled urgency that had overtaken him up against the wall outside and left him aching to crawl inside Sol's skin by any means available. All the sensations are muted now, parts of the experience that had all run together the first time laid out for him in resolution he'd hardly known existed before, so that every nuance becomes something new and surprising – it seems almost criminal he'd had no chance to appreciate it all the first time around. Sol tastes like the memory of everything they've done this night – sweat and blood and semen, fire and anger and despair; far from being unpleasant, there's no part of it that doesn't taste like the promise of more. The bite mark on his neck still throbs dully whenever he remembers it, the sense-memory of the experience still new enough to taste, but the need this time feels as though it's coming from somewhere deeper, less overwhelming but perhaps more genuine for it. The hunger in the way Sol's kissing him is unmistakable, but the way he's exploring Ky's mouth is almost leisurely, even if it's still leaving Ky feeling that little bit off balance, always one step behind catching up. 

He's barely starting to feel like he's settled into the kiss before Sol's mouth is moving lower, lips exploring the soft skin under his chin and trailing deliberately down his neck with, hard, sucking kisses like Sol's laying claim to him, inch by inch. The moment Ky realises just where Sol's going the bite mark throbs anew, anticipation winding like a spring with the closer Sol gets. When Sol's tongue runs over the spot at last the sensation goes straight to his groin and Ky gasps aloud. Even expecting it, it's so much better than he'd been prepared for. 

Sol doesn't linger there long, but he doesn't need to; it's more than enough to bring everything that started all this flooding deliciously back, heat spreading just far enough to leave him wanting more. When Sol's mouth leaves a moan of protest escapes before he even realises he's making it, and there's an answering noise from Sol that comes closer to a growl. 

“Don't tempt me,” he says mildly. Sol has one hand in his hair, the other wrapped around the back of his neck, and the fingers on both tighten, though not painfully; for all his protests he's still practically nuzzling against that spot, and it's making Ky dizzy. “Can still taste it on your skin.”

Ky blinks over his shoulder. Of all the things he thought he'd known about sex, this particular complication had never entered into things. “...no, that wouldn't be wise, would it?” 

Sol snorts against his neck. With Ky's experience, it's a little too easy to start calculating exactly how much blood a human can safely lose, and how often, and he doesn't feel – or sound – as convincing as he probably should. 

“Maybe some other time?” Ky offers, a compromise of sorts. 

Sol mutters something Ky doesn't quite catch about failing resolutions, but it doesn't sound a bit like disagreement. With what feels like real reluctance, he pulls his face away, moves to the other side of Ky's neck and sucks a kiss into the skin there instead, sudden and hard enough to bruise, and that's really not half bad either. 

The thought they've got all night to explore this makes something tingle deep in his stomach, but by the time Sol starts on the buttons of his shirt, there are just one or two little details he's starting to feel the slightest bit impatient with. 

“Haven't we,” Ky's voice comes out so husky the first two words are barely decipherable, “done enough standing up for one night?” Not least because he isn't sure he trusts his knees to hold him up through much more of this. 

Sol finishes a long, and completely un-protested, lap of his tongue along Ky's newly accessible collarbone before replying. “Getting ahead of me?”

“I've been...” the scrape of teeth on the same place almost make him lose the rest of the sentence, “ahead of you since the alley outside.”

Sol chuckles and looks up to meet his eye. “True, that.” A nudge is all it takes to start Ky walking backwards towards the bed, Sol following him. Any flash of self-consciousness he feels about spreading himself back against the covers lasts only as long as it takes for Sol to join him, crawling over to cage Ky's body between his limbs. Ky's hands come to rest of their own accord on Sol's lower stomach, but it's impossible to keep them still for long. It's a source of constant amazement that a vampire could have skin this warm, this inviting. 

“Looking forward to settling the score?” Sol asks, not doing anything to Ky yet beyond grinning at him (which is really enough), and leaning in low, voice descending another octave below even his usual husky growl. “Getting in under my guard and laying it into me where I'll feel it.” The last line is whispered right against his neck, “Can't be many people ever inspired Ky Kiske to aim below the belt.”

Trust Sol to take a metaphor of this as a fight all the way past its logical conclusion, to make words sound dirtier than anything they've actually done.

“You make it sound like you ought to be the one in _my_ debt,” says Ky. It could only be arrogance to imagine he knows how to make Sol feel half as good as Sol had made him, but that certainly isn't going to discourage him from trying. 

“Took you apart once tonight already. One opening and I'll be doing it all over again,” says Sol, with what sounds like considerable pride, pulling Ky's shirt free of his pants and running his hands over Ky's stomach. 

“Am I supposed to have it in me to _object?_ ” he replies, feeling dizzy again. They've really got to get rid of the rest of these clothes – there's something even dirtier about how much they've done already with him still dressed. 

Sol goes back to the buttons on his shirt, working his way up from the bottom this time. “If I'd known you were going to be this enthusiastic, don't know I could've kept my hands off you this long.”

“You've thought about this before?” It's really no surprise – he's suspected at least as much ever since his revelation about the flirting, but he hadn't expected Sol to admit it so easily.

Sol shrugs. “Maybe a little.”

It's such a blatant understatement Ky can't help letting out a breathless laugh, and Sol's grin widens, sharing the joke. 

“Should I be congratulating you for waiting this long?” Ky suggests, bringing a hand to the side of Sol's face. “I feel rather more inclined towards the opposite.”

Sol's expression darkens, almost imperceptibly. “Promised myself I wouldn't move on you as long as you didn't know I wasn't human.”

Ky blinks at him. “You were planning to tell me some day then?”

“Who knows,” Sol mutters, focusing on the last couple of buttons, but the inflection sounds far more like 'no' than 'yes'. Something warm and comfortable that had been in the process of opening up in Ky's chest halts abruptly, but before he has any time to dwell on the feeling it dawns on him Sol's not just avoiding eye contact for the sake of it, he's staring at Ky's newly bared chest. A gold cross in solid, ornamental design stares back at him. 

The spreading warmth constricts back down again all at once as Ky realises this isn't going anywhere further until he takes it off. 

There are vampires powerful enough that they can look on the sign of the cross with the same illusion of ease they treat full summer sunlight, but that doesn't mean either ever lose the capacity to weaken them, even to the extent of causing pain. He can't ask Sol to endure something like that just for the sake of the principle, but not even the bite mark on his neck had served as so sharp a reminder of just what kind of creature he's invited into his bed. 

But before Ky's gotten as far as formulating all that into a real response, Sol looks up again at last, catches his eye and quirks an eyebrow at whatever it is he's reading in Ky's face. Keeping eye contact until the very last moment so that he knows Ky's watching everything, Sol leans slowly down and presses a kiss to the lower bar of the crucifix, the edges of his lips brushing the skin of Ky's chest either side. Something burns deep in his eyes when he looks up again, but there's not the faintest trace of discomfort.

Ky is, once more, finding it incredibly difficult to breathe. 

“My god,” he whispers, the heat in his chest before replaced by yet another of those sensations he doesn't have a name for, spreading out from where Sol's lips just touched him and not stopping. “What on earth _are_ you?”

“Thought we were saving that for later?” says Sol, without malice. Ky shakes himself.

“That was mostly hypothetical,” he says quietly, and Sol seems to take pity on him a little. 

“Shh, there'll be better times for it. Trust me.” 

A light tug prompts Ky to lean up so Sol can push his shirt back over his shoulders. “Would I have let you do all this if I didn't?” he replies, keeping his voice light, even teasing. 

Sol's eyes rake over Ky's newly bared chest, down and up again, hands following but coming to rest just above Ky's hips. “Think you know where this is going then?”

Ky hasn't known where anything was going from one moment to the next since Sol ran off on patrol earlier that night. “I have a feeling I ought to make you tell me,” he says aloud. 

Sol gives him a hungry grin, and leans down low, “I want to fuck you,” he breathes in his ear. 

Ky is left dealing with a vague feeling that the first proper thought to pass through his head after hearing a particularly graphic sex act proposed as a profanity probably should have been further from, 'oh please'.

“I could be talked into that,” he admits, voice suddenly hoarse, the end of the last word lost in a gasp as Sol's hands dip the final inches remaining to his pants, setting on the button and zip with practised efficiency, a process which involves just enough incidental pressure to tease. Trust Sol to take this approach to 'talking him into it' – words never have been Sol's first resort when it came to settling a matter like this.

Sol makes short order of Ky's pants before reaching down for something on the floor, which confuses Ky for the moment it takes for him to think to wonder what happened to the jar Sol had been holding when he'd come in. Retrieved from the floor, the container proves to be filled with a viscous fluid, into which Sol unceremoniously plunges the fingers of one hand. They come away slick with an oily substance, and when Sol strokes them slowly over Ky's cock, the result – glorious, frictionless pressure – is so _very_ nice any passing indignation Ky might have wasted on the thought of just what Sol's getting on his privates is well and truly overruled. 

The stroking only goes a couple of times up and down the his length – reassurance, maybe, certainly enough to quell any doubts that Sol knows exactly what he's doing – before the fingers are trailing lower, over his balls and further still into sensitive parts of Ky's anatomy that he's never been this aware of before. Sol may be taking his time, but he's not patient by nature and he doesn't linger any more than what Ky has the passing impression of being rote requirements for breaking in any nervous virgin. He doesn't bother asking permission again for anything Ky's already more than implied permission for either, but he does look up at that point, catching Ky's eye. Whether he's making sure he can tell if he's doing anything to make Ky uncomfortable, or if he just wants to see every last thing that crosses his face while he does this or some combination of the two Ky will never know, but the result is that when Sol's finger presses inside him everything else in the world is lost behind the look in Sol's eyes, pupils dilated until the red of his irises is little more than a sliver around the edge. 

The sensation of Sol's finger pressing into him is more strange than uncomfortable – if it's any rival to the kind of strains he's used to from years hunting monsters through the cold and wet at all hours of the night, it's only because the stretch is somewhere so much more intimate than anything he's experienced before. Ky's breath is coming in short pants now; when he breaks eye contact at last (Sol's face strange and serious) it's to lean back, arching up into the contact in a way that seems to make it easier. By the time he looks up again there's a second finger moving in beside the first, stretching against muscles that really aren't used to this sort of intrusion, and yet Ky's almost too distracted by the sight of what Sol's doing with his other hand to notice, palming himself roughly through his pants while he watches. Ky's mouth goes dry; for all that they've done so far, up to now Sol's been just a little too good at keeping his own arousal under wraps for comfort – this is the first hint he's had yet of so much that seemed to be missing from the incident in the alley outside. At the same time the sight comes with the faintest niggling of betrayal – it should surely be against whatever rules apply here for either of them to be doing that to themselves, especially when Sol would only have to scoot up the bed into reach and Ky would be more than happy to take over for him. He never does get any further with that thought though, because the next second whatever patience Sol has had with the pace thus far has eroded to where he's now thrusting both fingers sharply inside, as far as they'll go, and as far as they'll go involves hitting something deep inside Ky that shorts out every thought he'd been having and a good deal more he'd hardly even begun to form. Ky gives a low moan, and he's shifting bodily back against Sol's fingers as soon as they move away. Sol's response is to pause, judging (undoubtedly smirking even if Ky can't see), then thrust his fingers back once more, making Ky gasp out his name.

The fingers still. “Ready for more?” Sol asks him, not waiting for Ky's answer before pulling his hand back and reaching for his pants, but Ky makes a vague noise that he hopes sounds like assent – full words are giving him more trouble than usual right now. Sol's already undoing his pants, completely mindless of the dark, sticky fingerprints he's leaving on them with both hands, finally drawing out his cock. He takes a moment to coat himself with more of the oil, and Ky knows he's staring, but he can't help it. Sol's decently larger than him – he'd have been a fool not to expect that – but it's still just a bit amazing to think he's the one responsible for making Sol that hard. For all Sol's faults, sexual deviancy has never been among them – as long as Ky's known him he's always been too stubborn and solitary to seek even the most casual kinds of intimacy with anyone, male or female, soldier or otherwise. To be the one exception is perhaps the greatest compliment Sol could have paid him. 

Now they've come this far Sol wastes little time lining himself up. Ky lets his head tilt back against the pillows, eyes drifting closed, half-certain that if he watches Sol pushing into him this could all be over embarrassingly fast. The sensation alone is more than enough, the stretch of Sol sliding in much greater than before, slow enough that Sol has to be deliberately holding himself back. Ky reminds himself to relax, tries to slow his breathing down, but it's an effort, and the restraint Sol's holding himself to isn't actually helping much with that. By the time he's all the way inside Ky's desperate for Sol to move; he feels like he'll split in two if either of them so much as breathes too deeply, but there isn't a single sensation involved in all this he'd trade for all the world.

“Alright?” Sol asks, an impatient hitch in his voice that wasn't there before. “Can't tell much if you won't look at me.”

“Sorry,” Ky breathes, opening his eyes, “I'm fine. You can... any time you like.” 

Once again holding eye contact, Sol draws himself out slowly, slick against enough oil to remove all but the last hint of friction, and thrusts himself back in again all at once, hitting that spot inside Ky again hard enough to make him arch his head back and whisper, “ _Oh yes_.” 

Sol does it again, and all the strangeness of all of this put together – the intrusion, the way Ky's legs have had to spread to give Sol access, the very idea that he's gone from nothing to this so fast, let alone with _Sol_ – is nothing compared to how good this feels. 

It doesn't take long for Sol to pick up the pace. Whatever restraint he's held thus far is soon confirmed to have been for Ky's benefit alone, and within the space of half a dozen thrusts he's pounding into Ky's body hard enough to almost fold him in half. Muscles Ky never knew he had are going to be aching from this tomorrow morning, but he isn't going to care. It's this he's been waiting for all night – all that energy he knew Sol had in reserve loosed at last; this is Sol hiding nothing, holding nothing back. Sensation builds long past where he can tell where one thrust ends and the next begins, - he's digging both hands into the bedclothes just to have anything solid to hold on to that won't mean doing himself damage with his own nails. It's a good thing he's come once already, he doesn't know how he could have lasted this long otherwise – the only thing holding him down is that he doesn't want it to end.

He's just about concluded that it couldn't possibly get any better when Sol leans that little bit further forward, thrusting all the way in, his mouth finding the bite-mark on Ky's neck one last time. Sol sucks down hard, and Ky comes so long and sudden the whole world whites out; he barely has the sense left to hear Sol growling out his name as he shudders deep inside him. Not even in a whole night of new and overwhelming experiences has there been anything to compare to _this_. 

When Ky remembers how to move again (only a little startled at the discovery that the rest of the world is still there) he finds Sol licking semen off his stomach, not the least self-conscious when he glances up to see Ky's back with him again. The next stroke of his tongue is drawn out as long and slow as Sol can make it. It would probably be unbelievably arousing if Ky had anything left in him in any state to tell. The whole world seems to be happening on the far side of a thick, warm fog at the moment. He brings a hand to rest on the side of Sol's head as Sol finishes what he's doing and crawls back up towards him. Sol looks as pleased with himself as ever, but there's something new to it now – something more relaxed and open than Ky's not sure whether he's imagining or not.

“My _god_ ,” he murmurs, which doesn't do the experience any kind of justice, but is as much eloquence as he's capable of.

Sol grins. “Talking to me?”

Ky swats him playfully on the side of the head, which somehow turns into him pulling that head down again for another kiss, lips colliding with less than perfect grace; Ky is well beyond having the energy left to do this properly. 

“Better get you in bed before you pass out on me,” says Sol after a bit. The statement puzzles Ky until he remembers that although they're nominally 'in bed', the covers are all underneath him at the moment. It's fortunate that Sol seems to know what to do about it, because he's not wrong that Ky's about two breaths from sleep. 

Sol's curled up beside him before it even occurs to Ky that there was any possibility that he might not be staying there the night. He can't quite think what the alternative would have been though; there are a lot of cold corridors between here and Sol's quarters. It's natural Sol would be staying, isn't it?

He's asleep before he can carry the thought any further.


	5. Chapter 5

Ky wakes mid-morning to find himself in his own bed, alone. It takes him a beat to figure out why that's wrong – to convince himself the events of the previous night had been real – and two more for it to dawn on him that perhaps this was no more than what he should have expected all along. Out of everything he might have imagined Sol had implied the night before, he'd made no promises, and in the sobering light of day everything that took place can't help but look very different. 

It soon proves that Sol is not in his quarters, or the mess hall, and not his favourite corner of the courtyard either. No-one Ky asks can recall seeing Sol anywhere in the headquarters since daybreak, nor have the gate-wardens seen him leave. He may as well have disappeared, and Ky would have to be a fool not to wonder whether that hadn’t been exactly what he’d intended. Sol’s secret is out, and if he has any doubt that Ky will keep it, by the time Ky woke this morning, Sol would have had long enough to be miles away.

Sol _had_ to know what Ky would assume if he woke and found him gone. He had to know what Ky would do. If he had any sense he'd be raising the alarm already – everyone in the Order could be woken and warned about the monster that had been hiding itself in their midst by the lunch bell. 

Instead, he finds himself returning to his room before he’s treated the option to more than a passing thought.

If he had any sense, he would never have frozen at the sight of his own sword sticking out of Sol’s side last night.

When Ky had first rushed out after waking he'd done little more than throw on his clothes at speed. Now, peeling back his collar in front of his bedroom mirror gives him his first look at the mark he’d had to resist the urge to finger all morning. The bite-mark stands out stark red against his skin, but Ky has to conclude that inasmuch as he has any experience with the subject, it looks no worse than an ordinary love bite or suction mark. The puncture wounds he knows should be there are gone completely. The spot is still sensitive when he explores it with his fingers, but compared to what he felt last night when Sol had…

What he’d felt last night in the heat of the moment – it doesn’t mean anything he could count on. 

Sol has until sundown, he decides, forcing himself to make eye contact with his reflection. He’ll decide what action ought to be taken then, and not a moment sooner. 

Sol can’t expect Ky to wait for answers any longer than that. 

*** 

Sol shows up at the gate an hour later, and immediately causes such a ruckus that Ky hears it all the way from the courtyard and takes off at a run, relief expanding into writhing knots in his chest that make it hard to breath. He catches Sol staggering through the archway, two worried looking wardens at his heels. Sol has his right hand clutched over his left side, blood oozing through his fingers and staining the white of his uniform to match its trim. Fear of a very different flavour rises in Ky's throat and has to be forced down with effort; Sol is a _vampire_ – Ky lets himself frame the thought for the first time since last night – and he's still on his feet, this couldn't possibly be enough to do him in. 

Sol catches sight of Ky and hunches away again, more irritated than ashamed to have been caught like this. At the sight of their captain the wardens hesitate. 

“What is going on here?” Ky demands. 

“Sir, he's refusing to go to the medics!” a warden supplies.

“It's a fucking _scratch_ ,” Sol snaps. The man flinches back a pace, but for a moment Ky could have sworn he caught something in Sol's eye that begs him to understand.

“I'll be the judge of that,” he says. “Have someone send a first aid kit to my quarters.” The last he directs to the warden, who looks surprised but relieved to have a matter like an injured Sol taken off his hands. Ky turns his attention back to Sol. “And while I'm deciding, you can explain to me _exactly_ what you were doing to get yourself a 'scratch' like that at this time of day.”

Ky turns on his heel and stalks back toward his room, not looking back even when he hears the uneven sound of Sol's footsteps following behind him. By the time he arrives the hammering of his heart against his chest has almost calmed to normal. Even _he's_ not entirely sure how much of that performance was an act, or for who's benefit.

The first-aid kit arrives moments after they do (angry captains are nearly as effective as wounded men at inspiring quick action). Sol takes a seat on Ky's bed and removes his shirt without a word. Underneath are three puncture wounds a few inches apart, slowly oozing blood down his side. Ky could not have begun to guess how deep they might be; if Sol had been anyone else he would have sent him straight to the duty medic. As it is, Ky merely wipes him down with a damp cloth and covers the wound with a layer of gauze and bandages, hands moving on automatic through the too-familiar task. Everything he wants to say is going to wait until Sol's no longer bleeding. 

“You smell so damn good right now,” Sol breathes, as Ky is fastening the end of the bandage in place. Ky manages not to drop the clasp, and makes himself finish before replying. 

“Do you mean me or my blood?” He tries to make the question sound more objective than he feels. 

“Either,” says Sol, as if the difference isn't important. 

Not sure what to make of that, Ky presses a hand lightly over the bandages covering Sol's side. “Last night,” he ventures, “you healed much faster than this.”

“Last night I'd just fed.”

“Do you need to... feed again?” Ky asks.

“Nah,” says Sol, leaning back. “I'm good for a while. Give me a few hours and I'll be good as new.”

Ky looks up into Sol's face. “Sol, what on earth did this to you?”

Sol hesitates only for a moment. “Met him last night. Remember?”

For a moment Ky wonders whether Sol is talking about himself, then his memory turns up the face of the _other_ vampire, one glimpse of whom had sent Sol into such a rage he'd forgotten Ky was watching at all. “Him... he came back?”

“Went after him,” Sol admits. “Bastard stabbed me and ran off.”

“Who was he? You seemed to know each other.” Despite everything that came later, he'd left the sort of impression on Ky that he wouldn't soon forget. 

“Calls himself 'Testament'.” Sol spits out the name. “I've been hunting him over a century.”

“You found him this morning? In the _daylight?_ ”

“Doesn't slow his kind down much,” says Sol, voice lowering to a growl. “He's one of _hers._ ” 

Ky stares. “'Hers', you don't mean...”

“What else would I mean?”

Ky takes a deep breath. “You're talking about the stories about the Vampire Queen? The first of the vampires, who commands the will of every one made after her... those stories are true?” It's not the most far-fetched tale of the creation of the vampire race he knows, but on reflection, hardly more impossible than everything else he's seen in the last twenty-four hours. 

Sol snorts. “They left out a lot, but _she's_ real.”

“Sol...” Ky has so many questions he hardly knows where to begin.

Something in Sol's face closes down, but he leans forward until he's almost whispering in Ky's ear. “I'm the only one she didn't make. And I've been hunting her since before your Holy Order existed.”

Ky shivers. He should be asking more questions, he should want to know every detail Sol can give him, but all of this – Sol being a vampire, vampires who walk out of stories no-one had ever known the truth of and into broad daylight, not to mention Sol himself – is already as much as he can take in at once. Whatever might be said for Sol, the fact remains that Ky doesn't want to believe him capable of betraying them any more today than he did last night. The sordid details of Sol's past aren't nearly as important as knowing he's here to stay. Those can wait until they're both ready for them. 

Ky shakes his head; this is going to take some getting used to. “So all those times you went hunting alone, without permission...” 

“A guy's gotta feed.” Sol shrugs.

Ky looks up at him in horror. Of all the difficult questions he's been pushing to the back of his mind, this is one that's far too important to ignore, and he can't think of any possible answer that he's going to like. 

“I _don't_ eat humans,” says Sol, looking him right in the eye. Ky shakes his head in disbelief.

“Sol, I've seen what happens to vampires who are forced to live on animal blood, and we'd _know_ if you'd been–”

“Who said anything about animals?” Sol snorts. “I live just fine on other vampires.”

“Oh.” Relief mixes with embarrassment that he hadn't thought of that himself. No wonder Sol's always been so vague about the results of solo hunting excursions. “I didn't realise that was possible.”

“Just as good as human blood. Better – don't need it as often.”

Relief, Ky reflects, is an unbelievably draining emotion. He's had more bursts of it than could be at all healthy in the last few hours. 

“Any more dark secrets I should be asking you about?” he asks, tiredly. 

Sol's face darkens. 

“I see.” Ky has to admit he hadn't expected much less. He holds up a hand before Sol can try to elaborate. “I don't really want to know. Not today, at least. Just – promise me one thing,” one of Sol's hands is resting in his lap, and Ky places one his own on top of it, “you aren't leaving?”

Sol's eyebrows rise. “Leaving? The hell did you get that from?”

“Sol, since yesterday I've had to revise everything I thought I knew about you.”

“Hardly. Before tonight you had no idea there was anything to know.”

“I had no idea how _little_ I knew,” Ky corrects him. “At the least, I thought I understood what you were doing in the Order. Now – it would seem foolish to assume anything.”

“Ch,” Sol grunts, but rather than answer a hand lands on Ky's neck, and Sol pulls him into a kiss, more gentle than deep this time. After a moment he leans back again. 

“Got a reason or two worth staying,” he tells Ky. “That good enough?”

Ky nods mutely. Sol grins at him, and Ky's stomach twists – he'd realised last night Sol's smirk was never going to look the same to him again. He hadn't been wrong. 

“Good.” That settled, Sol lets go of Ky and starts taking off his shoes. “Overdue for a good day's sleep. Testament can wait.” Depositing his belt on Ky's bedside table, Sol climbs into the bed. Ky watches with faint bemusement; vampiric sleeping habits _do_ shed a lot of light (so to speak) on some of Sol's lazier tendencies when expected to do anything in his off-duty daylight hours. 

“You do have your own quarters,” he says fondly. 

Sol cracks open an eye. “And how much sleep did you get last night?”

Probably not more than two or three hours – he's been running mostly on nerves all morning. Sol does have a point. 

Sol shifts over to make room for him, then rolls straight back into Ky's space as soon as he settles down. It's... nice, actually. Easier to relax in Sol's presence than it ever was when Ky still thought he was human. 

“Wake me before you leave this time?” he murmurs, already sleepy. 

“Not getting me out of here before sundown with a crowbar,” Sol grumbles back. 

Ky's pretty sure he can deal with that.

The rest is going to take some more getting used to. He'd be naive to assume his job hasn't just been made a lot more complicated, but he never chose this path in life expecting it to be easy. Life with Sol is never going to deserve that descriptor either, but at least that much came as no surprise. 

It's fair to say the full absurdity of the situation hasn't sunk in yet, but if he ever meets Testament again he might almost be inclined to thank him for showing up at so inconvenient a moment. Probably best not to mention that to Sol, Ky thinks, more soberly. He hasn't given the impression he'd see it as a laughing matter. 

After a second, he corrects the 'if' to 'when'. He can only imagine how long Sol's been hunting this Testament and his ilk, but he has no intention of letting him continue it alone. 

But that's an argument they can save until after they've both had some rest. Right now, curled up snug and warm and just awake enough to enjoy every subtle reminder that Sol is sleeping only inches away, having a vampire in the Order seems a very welcome idea indeed.


End file.
